The third day of fasting is beyond the “almost days” The day before we fasted, tomorrow we will fast and so on and so on. In other words, we are really fasting now.
This is the day when the rubber meets the road; this is the first day that people might sleep in instead of getting up for suhur, making it all the more difficult. If you did get up and then go back to sleep, the food doesn’t want to digest. When you start of your regular day something sits like some a canceled movie ticket in lump on the top of your stomach. You belch a lot and it reeks of what ever this lump was made of, all morning long if not all day.
On the other hand, the third day is the day your body starts to accept that it is fasting, requiring less food. Anyone prone to headaches those first two days due to severe drops in blood sugar and dehydration will be over it now and see more clearly. This clarity is what will characterize the remainder of the month. The stomach actually shrinks and you cannot eat everything you dreamt about all day long; which is a good thing. Because all meals being eaten in the dark do not sit well with overeating.
When my children started to fast around age 8, I would accompany them to school that first day and sit reading in the library with them. For some more than others, this quiet time away from the hubbub of screaming lunchers was needed longer than others, but never you mind, soon enough they all acclimated themselves to the fact that while most of their classmates would be eating at lunch time, they would be fasting; but why miss out on all that free time with friends?
The speed at which they got used to it boggles the mind, but that was not the fun part. Inevitably, with this lunar calendar thing some one of my children was fasting through all kinds of school holidays, end of school parties and the usual sundry of birthdays. They would be amazing: still keeping to the fast and still enjoying the company of their friends. They would however collect all the usual goodies others were eating in doggie bags, napkins, what ever was handy.
This stash would be saved until fast-breaking time. The intention was to eat it all, in addition to our family traditional fast-breaking fruit salad, the meal that followed prayer, and then the stash. But the stomach was NOT having it. There it was every chip, every cookie, every piece of cake, every bit of candy, waiting and now permissible, but the stomach just could not hold as much as the eye had coveted during the daylight hours. I don’t know if children who do not fast have this experience — you just can’t eat it all just because it looks and smells good.
As can be imagined, evenings are special after this day long vigil that keeps us away from all those casual habits, like taking a sip when passing the water fountain. Such habits have to be put in check. I used to tell my children like the story of Moses, “Imagine you are very thirsty but you learned that the water source was tainted. Because you have practiced not drinking you would be able to pass the tainted water when it might be harder for some child who had never practiced fasting.”
So once maghrib comes the restrictions are lifted, You can now eat food, drink what is permissible, have sexual relations and smoke cigarettes. In the Middle East evenings are festive: the shops open up again and people mill around like it was mid-day. I am not a night time person, so this was odd to me. At first I chalked it up to my minority status as a Muslim in America. I mean, why shouldn’t we celebrate each fast-breaking evening, and why shouldn’t we celebrate long in to the night?
Why shouldn’t we? I’ll tell you why we shouldn’t. Before Western people go to the Middle East in Ramadan, they are warned to be very patient, because things will not get done very efficiently. I was amazed when I lived in Egypt how government workers came to the offices several hours late each day of Ramadan, and then left for home and a nap several hours early. Obviously, you can’t have it both ways: up and about all night and then up and about all day. Something has to give. I guess they reason that since the fast prevents full force in the day, the night becomes full force. The offices are not open in the night though, just the markets.
Then I moved to Southeast Asia. This was more to my standard. The work day started at 7:30 no matter what the season. My first Ramadan, my students sat for their final exams during the first three hump days. I got a migraine just having to proctor, not produce. The only difference — the work day was one hour shorter. In fact, since no one took off an hour for lunch, it was like an exchange. The countries in Southeast Asia also have the added benefit of being near the equator. There are no extreme schedule differences for winter versus summer; like in the US or Europe right now. Sunrise to sunset was about 12 hours and therefore fasting was about 14 all year round.
So I learned that it wasn’t an “Islamic thing” to party all night in Ramadan; or to be useless all during the day. It was a cultural thing — and fortunately I do not have to imbibe every other culture in order to be Muslim. So I stick to my schedule, up for suhur, pray, read Qur’an and take a nap before sunrise if I have nothing else to get me up and out the door. Sure my children all grew up and they decided that early mornings were not for them, but when we are all together they appreciate that that is how I keep it. I appreciate that every one is different.
Every one is different and every mosque practices, standards and expectations are also different. I have prayed in mosques all over the world, when it is permitted. I have prayed in mosques all over the United States. The contrast between mosques in the US boggles the mind. The first night of Ramadan is the night before the first day of fasting. The new month starts with the moon so it starts at night. The special prayers called tarawih are a part of the ritual and celebration of Ramadan. Traditionally these prayers allowed those who had learned the entire Qur’an by heart to recite, the whole thing over the 29-30 nights of the month. It is divided into 20 different units with details to follow at another time. I prayed my first night at my favorite mosque in Oakland, Masjid al-Iman. But it is not realistic to travel that 25-45 minutes each way when there is a mosque less than a mile from my house.
I spied this mosque while running errands just the other day. At first I was happy because it is so close. Never mind, when I spied the “women’s” entrance off the back. Some mosques think there is honor in separating the women and men into separate quarters. Why this also should also means that the women’s entrance is inferior, way at the back, next to the garbage cans, up narrow unlit stairs, and the like is beyond me. Some times in those places with snowy climates the women’s entrance is not even shoveled or sanded for safe and easy access.
Problems of access to some mosques are shared by women and children with those who are disabled. Most mosques in the US do not have handicap access. I think we have law everywhere else, but this is the slippery slope between freedom to practice religion and freedom from government interference. The past few nights I have gone into this local mosque for the tarawih prayers and come out with out making any human contact. I think this is part of my preparation for hajj: how to perform the ritual requirements without invoking the politics of justice at every juncture.
For example, in this mosque the women’s section is completely separated from the men’s, in a large room. Therefore to hear the imam, there is a speaker system set up. The volume on this puts young people who listen to rock music to shame. I’m not quite sure if this means all the women are hard of hearing, but I notice that no one says anything about it. I admit it is a little difficult to get into the zone when I am being blasted, even if with the Qur’an recitation, which I love. I just think I can love it at a reasonable volume. If the speaker volume was the only acoustic issue it might pass but one of the smoke alarms is in need of new batteries so it “beeps” loudly at irregular intervals.
I have solicited response from my Facebook friends: “Should I purchase a battery and bring it to the mosque?” What would be the best way to ask for just a little tiny bit of additional serenity through this arduous path of spiritual practice? There is some underlying message here, I think. Women are not supposed to get into a spiritual zone. What is more, the women who do go to this mosque regularly are also led to believe they must acquiesce to these affronts, or… or what? They are not good Muslims, they are not true believers, they are damned to hell? So we take a little bit of hell now to avoid the big hell, I guess.
Note: To follow Amina Wadud’s daily posts, as she blogs from Ramadan through her first hajj, check here.
